


you have to let it breathe, my love

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dating, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Wine, adult au, if you can believe it this started as a joke, robin hood and loki are goro's dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Akira's been stopping by Sojiro Sakura's wine shop for months; not because he has a particular interest in wine, but because a nice bottle or two always makes visits back home easier and Akira is all in favor of that. He relies on Sakura to provide a quality bottle; Sakura is, after all, the expert.Until Akira makes a date with a charming young man who knows his way around a corkscrew; then Akiraneedsto become an expert. Fast.





	you have to let it breathe, my love

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for Goro's dogs belongs to Tumblr user [Marudyne](http://marudyne.tumblr.com/) \- I saw the idea and loved it a whole, whole lot.

Akira skims the bottles on the shelf with a growing sense of uncertainty. The labels are ostensibly in Japanese, but there are so many choices: beyond just red or white he apparently has to make decisions about year, region, sweet or dry...Akira reaches for a bottle on the second-to-top shelf and hefts it. Maybe he’ll do what he always does and let the price-point dictate his choice.

Sakura clears his throat from behind the counter. “Buying for your parents again?”

Akira glances up, shaking the hair from his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“It’s the only reason you’re ever in here,” Sakura informs him, then laughs at the face Akira makes. “I don’t mind, I don’t mind - how was the Argentinian you took home last time received?”

“Mmm.” Akira puts his choice back on the shelf and drifts toward the counter. “Coolly, and with mild disappointment. But I think that has more to do with me than the wine.”

“Really.” Sakura’s eyebrows raise. “You don’t strike me as the parental-disappointment type.”

Akira shrugs. He shouldn’t have said anything. “It is what it is. A nice bottle goes a long way toward smoothing things over - and your bottles are the best, Sakura-san.”

Sakura huffs, but he looks pleased. He turns away from the counter, toward the back of the store. “Flattery will get you into a case I haven’t shelved yet. That one you were holding runs a little on the acidic side, which isn’t for everyone; hang on a minute and I’ll grab something better.”

Akira grins, leaning on the counter as Sakura disappears into the back. This is why he comes here, why he keeps coming back; Sakura might be a little gruff but he knows his wine, knows how to match the tastes of people he’s never met with a bottle that’s sure to please. Akira hadn’t been lying when he said a good bottle smoothed things over at home; his parents have always appreciated the forms of politeness, and fielding pointed questions about why he’s still single is easier through the pleasant warmth of glass or two.

The bell over the front door jingles; Akira looks up to see a young man, about his own age, unwrapping a scarf as the door swings shut behind him. His brown hair brushes the tops of his shoulders where its escaped his ponytail, and he surveys the shop with the air of someone who’s never been here before and isn’t sure where to start, but is damned if he’s going to ask for help.

Or maybe that’s just Akira projecting. He still feels desperately out of his depth every time he walks in here, but he’s a firm believer in faking it until you make it.

The young man’s eyes skim over Akira, and he starts making his way slowly up and down the short aisles. He doesn’t appear to have any particular destination in mind, reading the shelf labels carefully and occasionally reaching out to pick up a bottle only to put it back a few seconds later.

Akira drifts over, pretending to consider a row of whites on the opposite side of the display. He sneaks a glance over the top of the shelf. This guy’s cute, and he looks like he’s having trouble deciding; if only Akira knew the first thing about wine -

“Can I help you?” The young man says, not raising his eyes from the bottle in his hand, and Akira realizes it’s the same one he had considered earlier, before Sojiro had offered to get him something from the back.

“That one’s a little on the acidic side,” he says, aiming for casual but knowledgeable.

A maroon gaze meets his over the top of the display, sweeping him up and down -

Then the young man grins. “A bit of acid goes a long way toward cutting the fat in a heavy dish,” he says, hefting the bottle. “Who says I haven’t found exactly what I’m looking for?”

Oh no. Cute _and_ clever. Akira feels his own grin deepening, and he rests his forearm on the shelf, leaning forward. “How many are you cooking for? You sure one bottle is enough?”

“One is plenty,” the young man says dryly. “The dogs don’t get any.”

A dog person. Dogs, plural. Not a deal-breaker, although Morgana wouldn’t be happy if Akira came home smelling like dog. And cooking for one, it sounds like -

“I think you’ll have better luck with these.” Sojiro’s voice floats in from the back, and he emerges with a bottle in each hand. “Guaranteed parent-pleasers -” he trails off as two sets of eyes land on him. He sets the bottles on the counter, and raises a pointed eyebrow. “Unless you’ve found something you like better.”

“Yes. I mean - yes, I’ll take them.” Akira kicks himself internally as Sakura’s mouth pulls upward, but he’s committed now, so he moves back up toward the counter, pulling out his wallet. Sakura rings him up quickly and efficiently, wrapping the bottles carefully while Akira tries to figure out how to subtly keep an eye on the store behind him. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can get the guy’s number before he leaves -

“You find something good?” Sakura says, and Akira nearly jumps as he realizes the young man has trailed him up to the counter.

“I think so,” the young man says with a sideways glance at Akira, and Akira grins as he steps back to make room.

“So - are you free on Saturday?” He asks as Sojiro scans the bottle. Might as well go for broke.

“Mmm,” the young man says, picking up a flyer off the counter and glancing at it. He picks up a pen off the counter and scribbles something across the top. “I have plans. But you’re welcome to join me,” he says, pinning the flyer to Akira’s chest, and Akira’s heart reverses direction, jumping out of his stomach and into his throat so fast he nearly chokes on it.

“I’ll be there,” he promises. Their fingers brush as Akira takes the flyer, and the young man grins as he withdraws, taking his purchase from Sojiro’s waiting hands.

“Then I’ll see you Saturday,” the young man replies silkily. He winks and sails out of the shop, and Akira watches him go until the door swings shut behind him.

“Smooth, real smooth,” Sojiro says, and Akira jumps. He looks down at the flyer in his hands.

 _Hokkaido Wine Festival,_ the flyer reads. _All the taste of the northern prefecture without the travel._ And underneath that, in a hasty scrawl, is a name - _Goro Akechi_ \- and a phone number.

He can’t blow this.

“Sakura-san.” Akira turns to Sojiro and presses his hands together, bowing his head over them. “Please. Teach me everything you know.”

Sojiro laughs. “You don’t have time for that, kid.” He plucks the flyer out of Akira’s hand and looks at it. “But I can teach you enough to get through this.”

* * *

The first thing Akira learns about wine culture is that he knows even less than he thinks he does. Sojiro sends him home with three books, two of which are filled with charts and graphs and one of which appears to be a catalog of every grape ever produced. He spends the next three nights skim-reading them, growing increasingly frazzled. He hasn’t studied like this since college - how is he going to remember all of this?

In desperation he stops by _Leblanc_ on the way home from work toward the end of the week. Maybe Sojiro will have a condensed version, a study guide, _something_.

Sojiro is occupied, though, serving up a tasting flight to a small group gathered around the front counter. Akira pretends to study the bottles on the shelves as he drifts nearer, listening; maybe he can pick up some pointers…

“This one has good legs,” a middle-aged man is saying, swirling the wine in his glass and Akira would be certain he was making that up had he not read about it the night before. Akira takes note of the way he tilts his glass, letting the liquid run down the side, and files it away.

“Oh yes,” the woman to his left responds. “And an impressive bouquet, too. Notes of peach and grass.”

Okay. Maybe he can do this. Grass doesn’t sound appetizing but it _was_ on the list of descriptors he’d read. Maybe if he just sticks with what he’s learned -

“Yes, pity it’s a blend,” a tall man on the end of the group says. “A single varietal is more satisfying.”

There are a few assenting murmurs among the group and Akira sneaks a glance at Sojiro, who is impassively wiping down the counter.

“Oh come, don’t be a snob,” the first man says, and the second man twists his lip into something just shy of a sneer.

“It’s not snobbery if it’s true,” he says. “You wouldn’t pass on a Champagne for a white blend, would you?” He smiles as if he’s won the argument and takes another sip from his glass.

Akira turns back toward the shelf, but he’s listening to the murmurs of agreement from the group, the sheer confidence in the tall man’s voice as he holds forth. It’s educational, to say the least.

When the group has departed, Akira approaches the counter where Sojiro is tidying up used glasses.

“A Champagne _is_ a blend,” he says cautiously, testing, and Sojiro looks up.

“What? Yeah, of course it is.” He snaps his fingers. “Were you listening what that asshole said? There’s one like him in every group; thinks that self-importance is a substitute for personality.”

Which is how Akira learns the _second_ thing about wine culture, which is that attitude is everything.

* * *

He lets that thought carry him through the rest of the week into Saturday, where he spends close to an hour choosing an outfit that he hopes communicates the right degree of casual confidence. He adjusts the lay of the v-neck over his collarbones and de-lints his blazer one last time before heading out, pulling up the address for the festival on his phone.

It’s not hard to find, once he gets close. Tastefully understated signs point the way toward a large building with people streaming in and out in twos and threes. Akira loiters around the entrance for a few minutes, wondering how he’s supposed to find Goro in all of this when there’s a tap on his shoulder.

“I see you made it,” Goro says when he turns, a small smile playing about his lips. Akira tears his gaze away from Goro’s mouth and meets his eyes properly, feeling his own face stretch into a grin.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, stepping back and gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?”

The festival is crowded, so much so that Akira finds himself keeping very close to Goro just to stay together as they wind their way through the busy stalls. Goro doesn’t seem to mind, glancing occasionally over his shoulder as if to make sure Akira is still there. Akira grins and lets him lead the way.

Goro’s first stop is a tiny stall from a family-owned winery with a small flight on display. The whites are clear and crisp, the reds deep and flavorful - at least, that’s what Akira says, and it lights something warm in him when Goro agrees, sipping thoughtfully. They thank the proprietor and move on down the line, and maybe it’s the warmth of the alcohol in Akira’s veins that makes it easy to grab on to Goro’s hand, to make sure they stay together - or maybe that’s just Goro, who squeezes his hand and follows.

By the third booth Akira is pleasantly buzzed - by the fourth he feels like he needs to take a break and Goro agrees that it’s time for a snack. They make their way to the food stalls in the back, waiting in line for the donburi, and settle with their prizes on a small bench, watching the crowd ebb and flow.

“Anything stand out to you?” Akira asks, stirring the rice in his bowl. He’s hungrier than he thought he was.

Goro hums, swallowing. “I liked the red at that last booth; the German one, the - Lemberger?”

“Yeah.” Akira thinks that’s right. “It was interesting, for sure. A bit dry for me, I think.” Bitter is the word Akira would prefer but he’s trying to remember the correct terms.

“An import, of course,” Goro continues and Akira nods along. “But then so much is, in this market.”

“Well, sure.” Akira adds _international wine economy_ to the mental list of topics he needs to research later.

“I might go back for it before we leave.” Goro finishes the last of his bowl and looks over. “If you’re ready to continue, that is?”

Akira shovels the last few bites in his mouth. “Can’t wait.”

Either Akira is losing his taste buds or the wine is getting _better_ , the further the afternoon wears on. He finds a crisp white blend that reminds him of apples and pears; he had thought people were really _reaching_ when they described the flavors of a particular glass but he really _can_ taste it. Goro smiles indulgently when Akira insists he try it, and as Goro swallows and lowers the glass Akira finds the breath caught in his chest in a way that has nothing to do with the press of people.

“It’s good,” Goro allows, licking his lips, and Akira wonders how the wine would taste on them, if he kissed Goro right here in the middle of the crowd.

“I’ll take it,” Goro says, reaching into an inside pocket, and it takes Akira a minute to realizes he’s talking over Akira’s shoulder, to the woman staffing the booth. “One bottle of the white, please.”

“I’m surprised; you’ve seemed to prefer the reds so far,” Akira says as the woman takes Goro’s card, turning away to run it and package the bottle.

“This isn’t for me,” Goro says with a sideways glance, taking his card back and tucking it away. He accepts the bottle and turns to push it gently into Akira’s chest. “It’s for you. You can bring it to dinner next Saturday.”

Akira feels the grin break across his face as he wraps his hands around the bottle. “Our first date isn’t even over and you’re asking me on the second?”

“It seems to be going pretty well.” Goro matches him grin for grin, and loops his arm through Akira’s, turning and pulling him through the crowd toward the next stall. “Why wait?”

Akira’s cheeks are starting to hurt and he probably looks ridiculous, but he finds it difficult to care as he lets Goro pull him along. Why wait, indeed.

The last stop of the day is at one of the large domestic producers, whose booths take up several “blocks” worth of stalls. Goro and Akira drift along until they find a small opening and squeeze up to the tasting bar, pressed together from shoulder to elbow. It might be his imagination but Akira likes to think that he can feel Goro’s warmth through his jacket.

“I’ll try the...kellner,” he picks at random from the tasting list, and the man behind the booth nods and picks up a bottle to pour. Akira nudges Goro with his elbow. “You?”

“Mm, I think I’ll try the - merlot,” Goro decides, then goes still as the man on his other side snorts explosively.

“Merlot,” the man mutters into his glass, and Goro turns slowly.

“I beg your pardon?” He says politely, so very politely Akira can hear the frost dripping off it. The more Akira looks the less he likes what he sees of this man; disheveled suit, face heavy with the flush of someone who’s been drinking too much for too long, a full glass in his hand and a nearly empty bottle on the bar before him. The man lowers his glass and turns to face Goro more fully.

“Didn’t realize they were letting kids in here - merlot’s an infant’s choice, too bland for anything but the most undeveloped palates.” The man looks over Goro’s shoulder at Akira. “Or a cheap date.”

Goro draws in a sharp breath as if he’s going to speak - but Akira can see the way his knuckles are whitening as he holds his glass and Akira has the sense that he should probably, almost _definitely_ head this off at the pass.

“On the contrary,” he says, sliding a hand around Goro’s waist. Goro shivers under his touch but he doesn’t say anything. “The Hokkaido region’s soil gives the merlot grapes an unparalleled depth of flavor. You can practically taste the summer fog.” He’s wildly making this up, but if he’s learned anything over the last week it’s that the key to winning this sort of encounter is a bored confidence and to never, ever sound even for an instant like you might be wrong “But then,” he continues, and he can feel his smile growing sharp. “You’d have to have a _refined_ palate to be able to pick that out. My condolences.”

The man starts to sputter and Akira takes a sip from his sample. “And it is a date,” he says, setting his glass back down. “Well done on recognizing one after all these years.”

Goro _shakes_ against him, but it’s not until he turns away from the man and Akira sees the way his lips are pressed together that Akira realizes that he’s _laughing_ and trying not to show it _._

Akira drains his glass. “I think we’re done here,” he says over the man’s incoherent protest. “Are you ready?” He asks Goro.

“More than.” Goro downs his glass like a shot and pushes the glass back across the bar. “Sorry about the mess,” he tells the server, jerking his head toward the drunk man, and then he’s grabbing Akira’s hand and pulling him into the crowd over the man’s outraged shout.

They’re both laughing when they break free of the press of people on the far side of the hall, and although they’re free of the crowd Akira is reluctant to let go of Goro’s hand. Goro doesn’t seem to want to it back, swinging their joined hands a little as he looks over Akira’s shoulder, back the way they came.

“Hey,” Akira says, and Goro looks at him. “I’m sorry about that jackass. I hope he hasn’t ruined a good day.”

“I wanted to smash my glass over his head,” Goro says matter-of-factly, and Akira blinks. Goro slants him a look through his lashes. “Your solution was probably better, though. My hero,” he says dryly, although there’s a tinge of amusement there that makes Akira think that yeah, they’re going to be okay.

Akira doesn’t want the day to come to an end, but it has to, eventually; before he knows it the crowd is thinning and the vendors are packing up and he has to accompany Goro out into the dimming light of the early evening. Goro refastens his coat as they step outside, and Akira, greatly daring, slides an arm around his waist and pulls him close as they head toward the train station.

“For the chill,” he says when Goro looks at him, and Goro laughs and shakes his head but he doesn’t shake Akira _off_ , so that’s okay.

Akira is about to suggest that they find a cafe, a food truck, _anything_ to make this day stretch out a little longer, when Goro checks his phone and swears softly.

“It’s late,” he says, and before Akira can protest that it’s not _that_ late he continues, “I need to get home to the dogs.”

Dogs again. Akira shouldn’t feel jealous, and yet. “Advantages of owning a cat,” he says instead. “Morgana just gives me dirty looks when I come home late.”

Goro glances at him sidelong. “A cat person. I should have known you were too good to be true.”

“You’re not allergic, are you?” Akira teases, trying to conceal the flips his stomach is doing at _too good to be true_ and _I should have known._ “Is this a deal-breaker? We made it,” he checks his watch. “Five hours.”

Goro laughs. “I think we’ll make it a little longer, at least,” he says, bumping Akira’s side. “But I really do need to get home.”

“All right, all right. I suppose they do have a prior claim.” Akira shifts his bag, feeling the weight of the bottle Goro had bought. “But I have one for next Saturday, right?”

“You do,” Goro says, smiling. “I’ll text you the address.”

“What, I don’t get to walk you home?” Akira mock-pouts. “I’m a good walker, I can keep up.”

“I have no doubt you can, but no, not tonight. Your train is in the opposite direction.”

Akira blinks, looking over at Goro. “How do you know which train I take?”

Goro smiles sunnily. “You texted me earlier this week, remember? Reverse phone search is a beautiful thing.”

Akira stares, and then laughs, loud and genuine and enough to turn a few heads. “What else did you learn about me? Any big secrets out there?”

“Mm. You don’t appear to be a serial killer, so that’s something.” Goro purses his lips thoughtfully. “Why don’t you tell me - anything I should know up front?”

Akira tries to keep his face neutral as several options present themselves to him. _I like you, a lot._ It feels too soon for that. _I faked my way into a date with you and now I’m worried that I won’t measure up_. That’s maybe a little _too_ honest.

“I’m really looking forward to next Saturday,” he says finally. “You should definitely know that.”

“Sweet-talker.” Goro elbows him but his cheeks are dusted with pink and not, Akira thinks, just because of the cold.

The train station arrives too soon, and since Goro has apparently already mapped out their respective commutes they pause awkwardly outside the turnstiles. Akira takes Goro’s hand in his but he’s suddenly unsure how to say goodbye; is a hug appropriate? Is a kiss too forward? Akira really wants to kiss Goro.

“I had a really good time today,” he says instead, squeezing Goro’s hand.

Goro squeezes back. “As did I. I -”

He cuts off as a commuter pushes past him, jostling him forward. He catches himself on Akira’s chest, and for a moment they’re close, so close Akira can see the individual lashes on Goro’s eyes and he thinks, _this is it, I_ have _to kiss him now_ -

Then Goro clears his throat and shifts back. “I’ll see you next weekend. Don’t forget the bottle,” he says with one last press of fingers, and then he’s stepping back and heading through the turnstile. Within a few minutes he’s lost to the crowd.

 _Too slow_. Akira kicks himself internally.

Then he shakes himself, and heads off in the direction of his train. His cheeks start to hurt as he boards, and he catches a glimpse of his reflection he realizes he’s grinning madly. He tries to pull his mouth down, to act some semblance of _normal_ , but his lips refuse to cooperate.

The bottle shifts in his bag and Akira gives up trying to pretend he doesn’t feel like he could run all the way home. He pulls his bag around so he can hold it protectively; it’s his ticket to seeing Goro next weekend, and he intends to treat it like the precious cargo it is.

* * *

Akira wakes up the next morning with a hangover and a new definition of the problem in front of him. The problem is that Akira really _likes_ Goro. Well - that’s not the problem, so much, as that Goro really likes wine. And Akira likes Goro. So - Akira likes wine, now. And it’s not that he _didn’t_ , before - he’d just never thought about it much, and now there’s so _much_ to think about and all of it is starting to jumble in his head.

He takes two painkillers and drinks what feels like a liter of water and feels a little more human by noon. He eyes the books stacked up on his nightstand but he doesn’t crack them; he’s not sure their contents are going to stick any more than they already have. The bottle he fishes out of his bag and puts in place of pride on the counter by the window in his tiny kitchen; it looks unusual but not entirely out of place. Akira thinks he could get used to seeing it there.

The bottle becomes like a good-luck talisman that week; he touches it on the way out the door in the morning, looks at it while he’s making dinner, picks it up after he does the dishes. He memorizes everything on the labels, front and back, so he’ll have something intelligent to say if Goro asks about it. He and Goro text every day, and on Wednesday he sends Goro a picture of the wine bottle sitting next to his french press.

 _A: Can’t wait to try this_.

The response is immediate.

_G: Do NOT open that without me._

Akira grins at his phone.

_A: I won’t. Looking forward to Saturday though...._

Goro’s text bubble pops up, then disappears, then pops up again for several long seconds, but all Akira get is:

_G: Me too._

And then, a few seconds later:

_G: Robin Hood and Loki are looking forward to it too._

Right. The dogs. Akira doesn’t have much experience with dogs, but he’s already done more for less for Goro. As long as Morgana doesn’t suffocate him in his sleep for daring to pet another animal, he’ll be fine.

The week goes by too slowly, but on Friday Akira puts the bottle in his fridge to chill and the next afternoon he takes it out and carefully stows it in his bag on the way out of his apartment. He protects it carefully on the train, and then he’s coming up out of the station, blinking in the late afternoon sunlight, and calling up the address Goro had sent him.

He rings the doorbell and and waits, taking his hands out of his pockets and then putting them back in. There’s the thumping of - paws, Akira supposes, from the other side of the door and one excited bark before Goro’s voice says, muffled, “ _No._ Sit.”

The door opens and Akira feels his mouth pulling up. Goro’s hair is tied back again, a few strands falling out as he looks behind himself, presumably at the dogs. Akira wants to brush the hair back behind Goro’s ears but he wraps his hands around the strap of his bag instead. Goro turns, and his smile lights something warm deep in Akira’s chest.

“I, uh.” He can be smoother than this. “I brought the bottle.” Or not.

Goro’s smile deepens. “Good, or I wasn’t going to let you in.” He steps aside to let Akira enter.

Two mismatched dogs sit just inside the hall, watching him intently as he slips his shoes off, one with a long golden coat and a tail that kicks into action when Akira looks at it, the other all pointed ears and short dark hair and an evaluative, imposing stare. Neither are a breed that Akira is familiar with, but both are sizeable enough that he can’t move down the hall past them.

“Robin Hood and Loki, I presume,” he addresses them, and holds out a hand to be sniffed. He’s rewarded with cold noses and increased tail action from the golden one.

“You’ve said hello,” Goro says from behind him, and it takes Akira a minute to realize he’s talking to the dogs. “Now let him through.”

The dogs peer around Akira at Goro, and then stand up almost in unison, turning and trotting away.

“Did I pass?” Akira asks, turning to Goro.

“It’s not a test,” Goro says, amused. He leads the way further in. “But you did.”

Akira grins, and follows.

Goro already has dinner started; Akira’s not a bad cook himself, but this is something else, the smells as he follows Goro into the kitchen making his mouth water. Loki and Robin Hood have already settled on a giant dog bed in an opposite corner, past the table, and although they look up when he comes in, they don’t object to his presence. Akira pulls out the bottle and sets it on the counter as Goro pulls two wine glasses out of the cupboard.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Do you mind pouring?” Goro hands him a corkscrew and moves to stir something in a pan; it’s only because he’s been practicing that Akira knows how to use it. He gets the cork out without incident and pours, turning to hand Goro his glass.

“Cheers,” he says as Goro sets down his spoon and accept it. “To making it a week. May we make it through the next,” he checks his watch, “three or four hours.”

Goro laughs. “Hopefully longer than that.” He _clinks_ his glass against Akira’s and drinks.

Akira lifts his own glass to his lips. The wine is as good as he remembers, but as he sets his glass back down Akira wonders if that’s not the company he’s in, if this glass would taste the same if he were drinking it alone. Watching Goro bite his lip in concentration as he dishes up two portions of perfectly seared fish and vegetables, Akira thinks not.

“Sit,” Goro directs, lifting a plate in each hand. “The table’s set.”

Akira grabs the bottle and heads over. Goro sets a plate in front of him, and out of the corner of his eye Akira can see Robin Hood’s head lift. Akira hesitates as Goro sits and lifts his chopsticks - should he propose another toast? It feels like he should do something, but Goro’s already lifting a bite to his mouth and so Akira follows suit.

“Oh my god,” he says indistinctly through the first bite. He flushes and swallows as Goro raises his brows. “I’m sorry - I swear I have better manners than that but oh my _god_ , where did you learn to cook.”

Goro grins, smug. “The library, mostly. It’s nice to have someone around to appreciate it,” he says, waving his chopsticks in Robin Hood and Loki’s direction. “Those two are enthusiastic but, ah - indiscriminate.”

“It’s really good,” Akira says sincerely. Goro’s cheeks flush the faintest bit; that is a _good_ look on him, and one Akira wants to see more often.

The conversation turns to Loki and Robin Hood; a doberman mix and a golden retriever respectively, Akira learns. “I trained them from puppies,” Goro says, smiling as two heads swivel to look at him. “They’re very well-behaved, although don’t believe anything Robin Hood tells you about the last time he was fed.”

“I know the type,” Akira says. “Morgana sits under the shelf with the treats and stares down visitors until they feed him.”

“I’m sure he’s starving,” Goro says solemnly, and Akira snorts.

“Right. He’s a con artist, is what he is…”

Akira’s halfway through the story about the time Morgana locked him out of his apartment when there’s the faint jingle of dog tags. Robin Hood sits next to Akira’s chair, laying his head on Akira’s leg and rolling his eyes up, stare dark and liquid.

Goro snorts. “Ignore him,” he says. “He’s the biggest ham.”

Akira pets the dog’s head. “You’re not getting any of my dinner,” he says. “I can’t play favorites. What would Loki say.” Loki lifts his head from the huge bed, snorts, and lays it back down again.

Akira looks back down at Robin Hood. “See?” The dog gives him a woeful look, clearly wounded by this unconscionable behavior, and then wanders away, laying back down next to Loki.

Akira looks up to see Goro watching him, chopsticks paused in the air halfway to his mouth, with this little half-smile on his mouth that’s so - so _amazed_ that something behind Akira’s ribcage constricts.

Goro’s eyes meet his and a flush starts across his cheeks. He raises his chopsticks then puts them down again without taking the bite, wipes his hands on his napkin, and finally seizes the wine bottle like it’s a lifeline.

“Refill?” He offers, holding it near Akira’s glass, and Akira nods and lifts it so Goro can pour.

“I hope this meets with your approval,” Goro says, and as the wine splashes into his glass Akira feels a spike of - not quite unease, but something like it, in his gut. “I know you have opinions about wine.”

Goro sets the bottle down and Akira takes a sip, buying himself time. He - he does have opinions, but they’re all other people’s, and this seemed like a good idea at the beginning but now it feels dangerously close to a _lie_ and Akira - doesn’t want to go down that road. He can see it suddenly, with alarming clarity - he says the wrong thing, picks up the wrong bottle, and suddenly this careful house of cards comes tumbling down. Maybe Goro would think it was funny; maybe he wouldn’t mind.

Or maybe he would. Maybe he would wonder what else Akira was lying about. Maybe he would decide it wasn’t worth the trouble to find out; that _Akira_ wasn’t worth the trouble.

Akira doesn’t want to _be_ trouble, but he very much wants to be worth it.

Akira sets his glass down carefully. “I.” He clears his throat when Goro looks at him. “I have a confession to make. Well, two,” he amends, because if he’s coming clean he might as well get it all out there.

Goro sets his chopsticks down and Akira takes a breath.

“The first is that I don’t know what I’m doing here - not _here_ here,” Akira adds hastily as Goro’s eyebrows raise. “I mean - I mean that I didn’t know _anything_ about wine until I met you, so I studied up, and now I know a lot but it’s all out of a book and - I’ve been faking it, this whole time. I’ve been pretending to know about wine so I could spend time with you, so I could impress you. But I don’t - I don’t want to lie to you about it so now I’m embarrassing myself and oh god please say something, save me from myself.”

Goro leans slowly back in his chair and presses one hand over his mouth, his gaze steady and considering. “The moment at the booth, with that merlot jackass?”

“Absolute bullshit,” Akira says. He tries a grin but he knows it’s weak. “It sounded good though, didn’t it?”

The moment drags into one long minute, then another, but Akira doesn’t look away, even as he can feel his face getting redder. If he’s blown it -

Then Goro laughs, sharp and bright, and pushes his chair back. “Stay there,” he says as Akira starts to do the same. “I want to show you something.”

He disappears down the hall, and Akira is left to toy anxiously with his chopsticks. He glances at the dogs, but Loki and Robin Hood just look at him pityingly, clearly unimpressed with his speech.

“Thanks for the support,” he tells them, and then Goro’s striding back into the room with an armful of books.

“Here,” he says, dumping the stack on the table next to Akira. “Look at all this.”

Akira turns the stack so the spines are facing him. _100 of Japan’s Greatest Wines, Vintner’s Basics, A Bottle for Every Table -_ the list goes on. These are all books about _wine_ , and with a sinking feeling Akira realizes that he _has_ blown it; Goro’s clearly an expert and he’s trying to show Akira how out of his league he is -

Then Akira notices the sticker on each spine.

“These are - these are _library_ books,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet Goro’s. If this means what he _thinks_ it means -

“Well spotted,” Goro says, but he’s smiling. He rests his hand on top of the stack. Now that Akira’s paying attention, he can even see little sticky-notes sticking out of the sides, marking individual pages. “I checked these out the day after we met. Couldn’t embarrass myself, you know.”

Akira looks up into Goro’s grin, and something bright and _light_ expands in his chest. “But - that first day, you said - you sounded so -”

Goro raise his eyebrows. “That line about acid and fat? I read it off a poster behind you. That shop is full of them.”

Akira can’t contain the bright thing in this chest anymore and so he doesn’t try, laughter bubbling out of him as he reaches out and gropes for Goro’s hand. Goro’s laughing too as he laces their fingers together, and Akira leans an elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand and _laughs_ , until he’s short of breath and has to blink away wetness.

“You said you had two confessions,” Goro says, squeezing his fingers when Akira finally catches his breath. “What was the second? Not as momentous, I hope.”

“Oh.” Right. “Well. I kind of already said it, but -”

Akira stands, using his grip on Goro’s hand to keep him close when Goro looks like he might step back. Akira slides his free hand around the back of Goro’s neck, thumb rubbing against the short hairs at the base of his hairline. Goro shivers faintly, but his eyes are steady on Akira’s face even as a trace of pink makes its way across his cheeks.

“I like you,” Akira says. “A lot. Enough to cram like I haven’t since college, and enough to not want to lie about it. And I feel like we were cheated last weekend, and I’d - I’d really like to kiss you _mmmmph.”_

He cuts off as Goro grabs his collar and yanks him in. Goro’s lips are just as soft and warm as he’d imagined and Akira might be startled but he can _definitely_ get with the program. His hand firms around the back of Goro’s neck, pulling him closer as Goro leans against him; Akira never wants to give this up, never wants to stop kissing Goro except eventually the need for air rears its head and he pulls back, gasping.

Goro’s lips are red and wet and _god_ , Akira wants to kiss him again, but he’s speaking and Akira should probably pay attention.

“I like you too,” he’s saying, and Akira feels his heart flip over in his chest. “And I appreciate the effort. But here’s my confession - I absolutely, positively, do not give a _shit_ about wine. It’s fine,” he says as Akira starts to laugh. “But there was a cute guy who kept showing up in the little shop I walk by on the way home from work, and _he_ seemed to like it, so. Here we are.”

“Here we are.” Akira grins, and it seems like he can’t _stop_ grinning. “Does this mean I should cancel the merlot shipment?”

“I never want to hear that word again. It _means,_ ” Goro says archly, “thatyou should kiss me again.”

Akira is more than happy to oblige.

* * *

_**One Year Later** _

“ _This_ is what you want to do for our anniversary?” Goro had said incredulously when Akira had shown him the website.

Akira had just grinned. “Fitting, don’t you think? And it’s pet-friendly.”

“I can’t wait to see you put Morgana on a leash,” Goro had said dryly, but he had turned the screen toward him and scrolled through it thoughtfully.

Now, on the back porch of a small family winery in Yamanashi, Akira sips from his wineglass and watches Goro watch Loki and Robin Hood. The dogs run up and down the rows of grapes, chasing each other; a year ago Akira would have been nervous about that, but he’s seen how instantly Loki and Robin Hood respond to Goro’s command, and even now they don’t stray too far, stopping and looking back as if to check that Goro’s still there.

Goro takes a sip of his own wine - merlot, a choice he’d initially made out of spite but that Akira thinks Goro’s actually grown to like - and Akira feels his heart contract to think that if he hadn't spoken up that day in Sojiro's shop, if Goro had never come in at all then Akira would never have known this: the tilt of Goro's head as he considers the flavors of a new bottle; his laughter when Akira leans over and murmurs something really _sarcastic_ in his ear; the way Goro looks at him over a glass, measuring and inviting all at once.

All at once it's too much, and Akira straightens and sets his glass on the rail.

“I have a confession to make,” he says, and Goro raises his eyebrows.

“Nothing too momentous, I hope,” he says, smiling as Akira steps close and wraps his hand around the back of Goro’s neck.

“Nah,” Akira says. “It’s just - I love you. And I need you to know it.”

The smile spreading over Goro’s face rivals the sunset for brightness, and he sets his glass on the rail next to Akira’s.

“Well that _is_ convenient,” he murmurs, turning to face Akira fully. “Because I love you too. Your strange obsession with fermented grape product notwithstanding.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Akira allows, leaning in. “But it was all worth it.”

It's a dry wine, for a merlot, but it tastes sweeter on Goro's mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr or [@36SaveFiles](https://twitter.com/36SaveFiles) on Twitter!


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